As I returned to the scene of the crime, I saw the blood, I saw the consequences of my actions.
They say that the truth is stranger than fiction, so I took it to heart and made my own art.
But damn. This was not supposed to be a part of my illustration, of my imagination. I did not mean to murder anyone. I just wanted to have some fun.
Am I to suffer because I love my craft? Must I be like everyone else. I want the rewards, not the effort, yet somehow in the end.
I ended up bleeding myself.